Because He Couldn't Take It Anymore
by subdural hematoma
Summary: Ryan can't take Eric's attitude anymore RS. Reposted.
1. Chapter 1

Ryan couldn't take it anymore. Day in and day out, all they did was compare him to Speed. It wasn't as obvious as it used to be—no, it was more subtle now. Calleigh would give him this look. Her forehead would wrinkle and she would pinch her lips. "Look at you Ryan," her hard eyes would say, "you're nothing like Speed. You'll never be half of him." Horatio and Alexx just look at him sadly, from time to time. Ryan hates it when they have that expression of on their faces; it is a constant cue that Ryan is a walking reminder of what these people have lost.

But Eric is by far the worst. While the others would never say anything to his face out of the marginal respect they have for Ryan, Eric talks. He and Eric could be working a case and subtly, oh-so-casually, Eric will slip "That's not how Speed would have done it" into the conversation. Or a, "Are you sure you're doing it right? Speed did it differently." Ryan's personal favorite is "Man, Ryan, we lost one of the greatest trace experts when Speed died. No one can replace him." That comment had never failed to make Ryan irrationally angry.

For crying out loud, didn't these people realize that he wasn't trying to replace Speed? That he was just trying to do his job the best way he knew how? It has been a year, one whole freaking year, since that day in the jewelry store. Surely by now he has done enough to make them like him, and if not that, at least respect him.

If anything, though, things have just been getting worse--the people he worked with seemed to hate him more with time instead of the opposite. It didn't help that Ryan seemed to be getting all the hard cases, ones that guaranteed Eric was going to be a snit about. Ryan knew that it was going to be a bad case when his cell phone had gone off at four this morning. And he was right. Ryan and Eric had spent the majority of the day processing a crime scene at one of the waterfront bars. A man was found dead slumped in one of the bar stools, with no obvious cause of death, and a sniper rifle in a duffle bag at his feet. Needless to say the Horatio and the department were a little anxious to ID the man and find out why he died with such a high caliber weapon near him. The two CSI's boiled underneath the blinding Miami sun, collecting evidence to figure out what had happened to this guy. 

They finally made it back to the lab as the sun was starting to sink into the horizon, setting the sky on fire. Ryan trudged into the break room hoping to find something to drink. He had a mountain of trace evidence to process—clothing, sand, some weird glop that the victim had had all over his hands. From the looks of it he was going to be here well into the night. Plus, Eric had been particularly irritating today—he managed to bring up Speed in every other sentence. Not only that, but Eric had used Speed's name as noun, verb, adjective, and every other part of speech he could find. If one more person compared him to Speed today, Ryan refused to be held responsible for his actions.

Filling up a cup with water, Ryan gratefully sipped the cool liquid. He leaned against the counter, eyes closed, enjoying the momentary quiet of the room. His anger and frustration slowly seeped out of him. Muscles that had been clenched all day relaxed.

Ryan heard the door to the break room swing open. He opened his eyes to see Eric staring pointedly at him. Eric sighed loudly and mumbled something, enunciating the words 'Ryan' and 'Speed', before going to grab a soda out of the fridge. Ryan shook his head in disgust. Would these people never let up? Ryan's patience was all but used up for the day.

"What now?" he snapped.

Eric took a gulp of soda before replying. "It's nothing—just Speed never would have taken a break if he knew that a case was resting on how fast he analyzed the evidence. Especially since we may have other snipers running around the city, armed and dangerous."

"I'm getting something to drink!" Ryan answered incredulously. "You're doing the same thing, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I'm just saying," Eric said. The look on his face said everything. It was scribbled with scorn and contempt.

"Well, I'm not Speed."

"Yeah," Eric agreed with a snort. "Damn straight you're not Speed."

Ryan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was getting to be too much. He had work to do and Eric's attitude and bitching didn't help. "Eric, listen. I know Speed was your friends and all, but could you stop comparing me to Speed all the time?"

Anger flared in Eric's eyes. "Oh, so you think you're too good to be compared to Speed?" Eric's voice got louder. "Speed was good, no great, at what he did. We lost a great trace expert that day," he paused, "and you're a fool to think you can replace him Ryan."

Ryan could feel something inside him snap—that this was the last straw. He had been kind and patient, he had taken all the verbal barbs and looks of disdain. But not anymore. Looking down at his drink he whispered something.

"What was that Ryan?"

He looked up right into Eric's eyes. Ryan's eyes looked like to chips of glittering back ice. "I said, Speed wasn't a god. He made mistakes," Ryan said articulating each word. "He made plenty of mistakes—he died because of a mistake he made."

"Shut up!" Eric yelled. "You don't know what you're talking about." He walked up to the younger CSI until he was inches from Ryan's face. "Don't you ever, ever, insult Speed. Do you hear me?" 

"No," Ryan yelled back. "You listen Delko. Every single day for the last year everyone at this lab has compared me to Speed—told me how I was never going to replace him, how I am never doing a good enough job. I am doing a damn good job but all of you refuse to see it."

"What, you think you're better at this than he was?" Eric asked angrily. "Because I'll have you know—"

"I. Am. Not. Speed. I am not trying to replace him. I'm not trying to make him look like a bad person. I'm just Ryan Wolfe trying to be a good CSI. I know you two were close, but get over it already."

Eric shoved Ryan into counter. "You don't know anything Wolfe. Speed and I were close, real friends. Not like you'd understand, but I lost the closest thing I ever had to a brother the day he died."

Ryan just stared at Eric after that admission. His eyes narrowed into slits as he looked over Eric, seemingly trying to figure something out. He nodded his head slightly before he shoved Eric off of him.

Calleigh and Horatio, who had been talking in the hallway saw the activity in the break room and hurried over. From the looks of things, Ryan and Eric were going to beat each other black and blue.

"Wolfe, what the hell?" Eric screamed. Ryan took out his wallet. After rifling though it for a moment, he handed Eric a picture. He then finished the water he had been drinking and walked out the door.

"I'll be in my lab working if you need anything," he said quietly to Calleigh and Horatio as he passed them.

"Eric what was going on in here?" Calleigh asked. "Why were you two fighting this time?" Those two boys were always a step away from each others throats.

But Eric didn't say anything. His eyes were wide and his mouth was hanging slightly open as he stared at what Ryan had given him.

"Eric, what is it?" Horatio asked softly. 

Eric silently handed Calleigh the small photograph Ryan had handed him moments ago. The picture was of Speed. His normally somber face was lit up with happiness and they could see the love in his eyes as he gazed at the man sitting in his arms. Calleigh and Horatio gasped in shock. She turned the picture over, to find Speeds neat handwriting on the back.

Ryan,  
I just want you to know you are everything to me. I love you so much. And these last six years have been the greatest of my life. You brought light to a life that had none. You bring out the best in me and make me a better man. Happy seven year anniversary babe. They've been the best years of my life.  
Love, with all my heart,  
Speed.


	2. Chapter 2

Eric paused a moment, standing in front of the glass door to the trace lab. He was a CSI, god damn it. He was supposed to see the details, the small things that everyone else missed. But no, somehow he had managed to miss crucial evidence. One that changed everything.

When Ryan Wolfe had stepped into the lab to take Speed's position Eric had felt only anger towards the younger man. Grief clouded the Russian-Cuban's mind—couldn't everyone else see that all that brat ex-patrol man wanted was to replace Speed? Speed who was good and dedicated; the last man that deserved to die in a stupid shooting. So Eric had never hesitated to let Ryan know how he wasn't Speed because somehow the longer he resisted accepting Ryan the longer Speed wasn't really dead, really gone.

But now, even that had been ripped from him. Eric looked at the picture in his hands again. Maybe if he looked enough times he wouldn't be holding a picture of his best friend and the man who replaced him holding each other and so obviously in love. Eric closed his eyes and counted to ten before looking back down at the photo. No such luck. Ryan was still sitting in Speed's lap, his arms around the older man's neck.

Eric sighed. What did a person even do in a situation like this? He had a feeling that apologizing to Ryan just wasn't going to cut it. But he had to do something. Gathering his courage, Eric walked into the trace lab.

Ryan didn't look up from the microscope he was peering into. He kept adjusting the magnification and making notes on the paper next to him. Eric cleared his throat to let the other man know he wasn't alone. Ryan didn't even twitch in acknowledgement.

"Wolfe?" Still nothing. Eric ran a hand over his face. "Look Wolfe," he started again. "I'm sorry, god, I don't even know what to say. I mean if I had known—but that shouldn't have meant anything. I was jerk, I know, but still, I lost my brother you know?" The younger man still ignored him, seemingly fully engrossed in the slide he was examining.

There had to be a way, Eric was sure of it, a way to repair his relationship with Wolfe. Problem was, he hadn't even known it was broken. "Ryan," Eric said softly. "I'm really sorry. I don't expect forgiveness or anything—hell I wouldn't forgive me if I were you—but…" he trailed off. What was the point? Ryan wouldn't even acknowledge that he was in the room with him.

Eric turned to leave, but a soft voice stopped him. "He died a month short of our seven year anniversary. The picture was an early anniversary gift he'd given me." Ryan was still looking down into the microscope as he spoke. "You know how I found out? Found out how my lover of almost a decade was killed? No one called me or came to tell me in person. No," he let out a harsh laugh, "I found out over my police scanner."

Eric didn't know what to say. He just stood there, rooted to the ground by Ryan's soft confessions. "Ryan, I—" his voice catching in his throat.

Ryan looked up from the microscope. Eric could now see the unshed tears and sorrow in the other man's eyes. How had he missed that all this time?

"I never got to see him after that, after the shooting. The last time was that morning, I said good bye and I love you. I didn't think it was going to be," Ryan's voce cracked, "the last time." He took a deep breath, controlling his emotions, before continuing. "And then I came here to work. I never wanted to be a CSI. Bet you didn't know that huh? I liked being on patrol, out there in the real world, trying to stop the bad before it happened. Speed used to say that this job was amazing. The ups more than made up for the downs. I knew he was good. I learned so much from just listening to him talk. So when they were looking for a new trace guy, I figured I would do it. Kinda like carrying on Speed's work. Plus, the people he worked with were supposed to be the best. He loved you guys, really loved you all. He never said a bad thing about this lab. I thought it would be comforting to work with people who lost what I had just lost."

Ryan stopped talking. For minutes he just stood there looking at Eric, trying to figure out what to say next. Eric for his part still didn't know what to say, what to do. Finally Ryan started talking again. His lips twisted into a bitter smile. "I was wrong about that one. Working with you, all of you…" he let the thought drift off. He shook his head, as if to clear the memories of the last year. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. I've got to get back to this." With that Ryan went back to looking at the slide under the microscope.

Eric knew a dismissal when he heard one. He walked to Ryan's work table and put the photo that had started all of this next to the other man. "Here. I figured you want it back. H and Calleigh saw it when you gave it to me by the way. They won't say anything, so you don't have to worry." He looked at Ryan, hoping to see some reaction. But Ryan was back to ignoring him.

Eric nodded his head. He had a feeling that this was what it was going to be like for some time to come. But that was ok, he could live with it. After all, in some way, he deserved it.

Silently, Eric walked out of the trace lab. It wasn't until after the other man had left and was well down the hallway that Ryan looked up. His eyes settled on the picture on the table, his lips turning up into a soft, sad smile. He traced the outline of Speed's face with his finger. He placed the picture back into his wallet and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, before looking back into the microscope.

Maybe, just maybe, things could start getting better.


	3. Chapter 3

It was amazing, Ryan thought, how things had changed in the last three weeks. He and Eric had actually had a conversation—no insults or snide remarks. Horatio called him Ryan instead of Mr. Wolfe more often than not. Calleigh dragged him to dinner with the others in the lab almost every week, an event that previously he had never been welcome to attend. Finally, after more than a year, he was being accepted into the lab, as a part of a team he so desperately want to be a part of.

And Ryan hated it all.

It never should have been like this—fake smiles and pseudo buddy-buddy conversations. What it came down to was they wanted to stop feeling guilty, convince themselves that that it didn't matter who Ryan had known before, but not actually get to know the young CSI. And then there was the never ending stream of questions: "How long did you know him?", "How long were you two together?", "What was he really like?". As if Ryan was ever going to answer them. His lover had been a private person while he was alive. There was no way in hell Ryan was going to kiss and tell now that he was dead. It was all so aggravating. Sighing, Ryan ran a hand over his face.

"Can you come back now Speed?" he asked his lover's gravestone. "Your lab is driving me crazy. They're all walking on eggshells around me 'cuz they know about us. Eric asked me if I wanted to go clubbing with him this weekend. Clubbing. With him. I swear he almost looked serious about it too. I think Calleigh put him up to it though."

He came here every two weeks or so, if he got the chance, if he wasn't wiped out from working a triple shift. He'd tell Speed all the latest gossip from the lab, the cases he was working on, what he was making for dinner. Anything and everything that came to mind.

"I'm half tempted to take him up on the offer," Ryan said, smirking. "Can you imagine how awkward that would be? Me 'n Eric clubbing together. Hah! That's a joke. He'd probably forget I was even there about three seconds after walking through the door. And I'd spend the rest of the evening bored out of my mind. Then he'd leave with some chick and I'd go home alone."

A familiar pain bloomed in his chest at the thought of how he spent all his nights alone. It was a dull ache now, blunted by time. But Ryan didn't think, no, he knew, it would never fully go away. And he accepted the fact that no one was going to cook him dinner after a long day's work or wake him up after he accidentally slept through five alarms. That there would be no more slow dances to the music of the waves on the beach or sensual back massages that invariably heated up rather quickly. Ryan had found love, true and beautiful love—that only happened once in a life time if you were lucky.

"So yeah," he continued, banishing the depressing thoughts, "I don't think I'll be going out with him anytime soon. He keeps asking me about you though. He's hurt that you never told him about us. Eric's never going to say it to my face, but I can tell. It bothers him that there was a lot about you that he never knew and that I know. It's like that for all of them really. Yesterday Calleigh asked me if I remember your favorite movie." Ryan laughed at the thought. "Of course I remember it. I mean we only were together for what, seven years?" Ryan smiled. He could say without hesitation that those were the best years of his life because he had spent them with Speed. "But don't worry babe, you secret is safe with me. I won't tell Calleigh you liked The Hounds of the Baskervilles so much that you wore out three copies of that video cassette. I remember how happy you were when I bought you the DVD for your birthday. I still have it ya know? Speaking of which, remember how we planned to go to London some day because of that movie? Maybe I'll still go, that way I can tell you all about it when I get back."

Stretching, Ryan realized how dark it was getting. The brilliant Miami sun melted a seemingly molten mass on the horizon. He quickly gathered his things and adjusted the bouquet of roses he had bought so they lay straight on Speed's grave. Ryan kissed his finger tips and placed them against the cold tombstone.

"I still miss you Tim. I hope you're happy wherever you are," swallowing, Ryan tried to stop the tear in his eyes from building. He continued in a small voice, "I love you so much. Even now you're the only one. So wait for me okay? I'll be back when I get the chance, love." He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of Speed's grave stone. It was a sight he had hoped never to see. He rubbed a hand over his face. "Anyway, wish me luck. I'm going to go to a bar with Calleigh and Eric. This should be interesting to say the least."

Ryan ran his fingers over the epitaph on the tombstone. Turning he walked away now fortified with the strength to deal with whatever this evening was going to throw at him. Him, Eric, Calleigh, and alcohol. How bad could it get?


	4. Chapter 4

_A dark haired man leaned against a yellow motorcycle. Cold and salty wind blew in from the cooling Miami waters, making the paper cups and newspapers twirl and swirl, in the parking lot where the man was waiting. The trash danced on to the beat of Latino music mixed with football commentary. Warm light spilled out from the waterfront bar in a warm and comforting invitation. _

_But the man made no move to go inside. Instead he pulled his leather coat a little closer and leaned a little harder into his bike. He could wait as he had no where to go. Minutes slipped by and his boot clad foot tapped out the beat of the song coming out of the bar. When the song changed, eyes closed, he smiled. The tune was slow and winding punctuated only by the wail of a trumpet and the soft patter of drums. The man swayed ever so slightly to the music, lost in a haze of good memories. Memories of two bodies moving slowly together, dipping and twisting, bending and winding to the same unhurried beat. _

_Lost in the music, the man didn't look up when another car pulled into the parking lot. A young man got out. He scanned the lot obviously looking for something or someone. When he saw the man leaned up against the yellow bike, he smiled. The younger man walked over, stopping a few inches short of the other man. _

"_Hey," the younger one said._

"_Hey yourself," the other man said, opening his eyes and smiling. _

"_They're playing our song you know." _

"_I know," he said, putting his on the other man's hips and pulling the younger man up against him. Instinctively the younger man put his arms around the older man's neck. Their lips brushed against each other in a sweet kiss. "You ready?" he asked the younger man. _

_The younger man hummed his approval as he kissed his boyfriend's nose. "Let's go," he answered. He took the older man's hand into his own and pulled him towards the light of the bar. _

Ryan shook his head to clear the images that had suddenly swan into view. Of all the bars in Miami that his co-workers wanted to go to, it had to be this bar. It was connected to hundreds of after work drinks, hundreds of Saturday night celebrations, and was the final destination after hundreds of walks on the beach. The bar was steeped in those memories the same way it was steeped in salt and smoke filled air. It had history attached to it.

It was their bar—Ryan and Speed's bar.

He'd come for the first time with Speed. It was just after he had gotten the job as a cop for MDPD. They'd sipped a few beers and eaten French fries drenched in ketchup the way Speed had liked them—a quiet and simple celebration of Ryan's new job. Then they'd gone back home and fallen asleep all wrapped around each other.

Ryan hadn't come here since Speed's death. What was the point after all? This bar was irrevocably tied to Speed. Coming to this bar defeated what now Ryan perceived as the purpose of bars. He went to a bar, to forget, to find oblivion somewhere down the path of a couple beers, not enough so that he woke up with hell pounding in his head, but enough to make sleep a little easier to find and bear. Coming here would only intensify Ryan's loss instead of making him forget, if only for a while.

So Ryan hesitated. It would be so much easier to turn around and go back home. He could call Calleigh and Eric later, tell them he had been exhausted and fallen asleep. They would buy it. They bought anything he said these days. Somehow they were convinced that as long as they agreed with whatever Ryan said they were fixing their damaged relationship. Not that there had been much of a relationship to damage.

But Ryan could hear Speed's voice in his head telling him not to run. That if anything was going to get better it meant facing his co-workers. With that thought and a sigh, Ryan walked into the bar.

It hadn't changed much since the last time he's come here over a year ago. The TV's were still on ESPN, hanging over the bar counter. Cigarette smoke formed ghostly hands that tangled their fingers in the patrons' hair. The other three walls were lined comfortable booths. It was in one of these booths that Ryan saw Calliegh and Eric. The two waved him over when they saw him standing in the doorway.

"Hey Wolfe," Eric said, dipping his head in greeting. The Cuban was relaxed, lounging back into the booth. His jacket has piled next to him. His white button down shirt, the one with the black flowers printed on it, was unbuttoned, revealing a white tank top and glimpses of a toned and tanned chest. Eric looked seven parts cool and three parts sophistication. He fit here in this small waterfront bar as much has he fit in, in the upscale bars in the lobbies of any of the five star Miami hotels. Eric always looked like he belonged.

"Ryan," Calliegh said smiling. "Eric and I were starting to think you weren't going to show." The Southern woman looked just as relaxed as her partner. Blonde hair fell down past her shoulders over a black hater top. She was beautiful and smart, sassy and dangerous. She wielded high heals and high caliber weaponry with natural ease. In another life time, if the situations were different, Ryan could see himself falling for this woman. And despite their rocky history, even Ryan would say without hesitation that she was truly amazing.

Ryan smiled slightly at Calliegh. She didn't know how close her words were to the truth. "Nah," he said signaling a waitress, "traffic was killer. There was an accident on one of the highways. You guys get anything yet?"

The blonde shook her head. "We were waiting for you. I"ll have a Mimosa," she said to the waitress who had come to their booth.

"Corona with lime for me," Eric said.

"You still drink Yuengling, Ryan?" the waitress asked. Ryan looked up at the woman, eyes widening in recognition.

"Roxie! Wow, I didn't realize you still worked here."

"That's cuz you haven't been here in Lord only knows how long. Used to come by at least twice a week. And then you just dropped off the face of the earth. What happened, Ryan?" Ryan just shrugged in response. "Speaking of which, where's that boy of yours, Speed? I haven't seen him either."

Ryan looked down at the table. His hands were clenched into fists, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. He would not cry, not in front of Eric, Calliegh and Roxie. No. He. Would. Not. Cry. He took a few deep breaths to break up the lump in his throat. "He died," Ryan said finally, once his emotions were under control. "Shot and killed in the line of duty last year. After that I just couldn't…" he trailed off.

"Aw honey!" Roxie said. She gripped Ryan's shoulder. "I am so sorry. I know how much he meant to you. Hell, we all knew how close you two were. Look beer's on the house tonight, ok?" She squeezed Ryan's shoulder one more time. Looking at Eric and Calliegh she said, "You two are great friends ya know. I'm glad you got him to come back here despite everything. He's one of our favorite customers. I'll be back with you drinks in a bit." With that she walked off.

Ryan glanced up at the other two. Both looked suitably embarrassed by Roxie's assumption that they were here to help Ryan. They all knew that wasn't the case. For some reason it made the younger man smile.

"I take it you came here a lot?" Eric finally asked to break the silence.

"Yeah. Speed and I came here all the time. After work, weekends—really anytime we wanted a beer. We didn't really drink much else. Plus, Speed had this rule, no alcohol in the house unless it was wine. And that was strictly for cooking purposes only." Ryan smiled at the recollection. "It was just one of his quirks."

"I never knew that about him," Calliegh said. Eric scowled and muttered something under his breath.

Ryan shrugged. "Most people didn't know a lot about Speed. He was a private kind of guy. Half of what I know about him came from the fact that I lived with him and I noticed things."

Roxie returned then with their orders. "Here you folks go," she said. "And here you go Ryan," she said placing two bottles of Yuengling, a plate of French fries, and a bottle of ketchup in front of him.

"I didn't order fries Roxie," Ryan said. "Or a second bottle of Yuengling."

"I know honey. But when I told Jerry that you were here and what had happened he sent these up. He remembered how much you like 'em. And I figured you were gonna need more than one beer tonight."

"Thanks, Roxie." She smiled and walked off to go take care of her other customers.

Ryan grabbed the first beer and looked at it for a moment. He hadn't expected Roxie to still be working here or even recognize him. She'd stirred up memories that he didn't and couldn't deal with. Not in front of the other two CSI's. Ryan had hoped that this night would just be a few drinks between co-workers. But apparently that decision was out of his hands. Now that Speed had been brought up, Ryan knew where this evening was headed. If Eric's muttering from earlier were any indication, those two were going to want answers about his lover. And fortunately, or unfortunately, Ryan happened to be an expert on the subject.

He'd been avoiding their questions for weeks. Any time some one would bring up Speed, Ryan would avoid the question, mumble answers, change the topic—anything but give them the information they wanted. That was what this night was about. He could pretend that Eric and Calliegh genuinely wanted to spend time with him outside of work. But the truth was this was the Spanish Inquisition, minus the blood, but still tortuous.

With that in mind, Ryan downed the first bottle of beer in a single go. Seeing how he hadn't eaten much all day the alcohol would hit hard and fast. He'd be tipsy before Calliegh and Eric started asking the hard questions.

"Damn," Eric whistled when Ryan put down the empty bottle. "You drink like a frat boy Wolfe. Didn't think you were the drinking type."

"I'm not a drunk if that's what you're implying. But I played my share of beer pong and won enough case races in college, Delko. I can chug a bottle if the mood strikes me."

"Chill out." Eric held his hands up in surrender. "I didn't mean anything by it. You just surprised me is all." He took a sip of his drink. "You seem to be doing that a lot these days."

"Speed isn't the only one we don't know much about," Calliegh added. She stole one of Ryan's fries and nibbled at it thoughtfully. "Though admittedly, that is partly out fault I suppose." She finished the fry. Sheepishly she added, "We haven't been exactly inviting you to share facts about yourself and your life."

Eric nodded in agreement. "But you've been avoiding all our questions, Ryan. What's going on?"

Ryan raised an eyebrow and took a swig of beer from his second bottle. "Hey look, no offense, but I'm not nearly buzzed enough to answer the questions you guys want answers to. And it's not like I have to give you two answers anyway. It's my private life, _private _life." Ryan liberally coated the fries with ketchup. He ate a few, relishing in they way they tasted. As far as he knew no one in Miami, strike that the world as far as he was concerned, made French fries as good as these. They were cut just right, not too thick or thin, covered in just the right amount of spices—pepper, salt, and what Speed had thought was cayenne pepper, not that Jerry would ever tell him—and fried so that they were crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. In a word, they were perfect. Damn he'd missed them. After eating a few of them Ryan looked back up at his companions. "But the way I see it," he said pointing to them with a fry in his hand, "I work with you guys all the time. And because I don't want to repeat this hellish past year, I figure we should at least, you know, get along. It's that or quit and get a job somewhere else."

"You've thought about quitting?" Eric asked.

Ryan snorted. "Thought about it? Hell I've got my resignation folded up in an envelope sitting in my locker. Ready to go at a moments notice." Damn, the alcohol has hitting him faster than he thought it would. There was no way he just admitted that out loud. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Working with you guys never was a walk in the park."

Calliegh, eyes wide as a doe in headlights, put her hand over Ryan's hand. "Oh Ryan, I know we've never said it, but I'm so sorry for the way we acted. The lab, all of us, we were all—"

"Yeah, yeah, you guys were all hurting. I know." He took his hand out from underneath's Calliegh's. "But don't forget, I was hurting too. I still am."

There was nothing to say to that, no words or actions to make it right. The past year has done and said. . Nothing was going to change what had happened. The three CSI's knew that. The only to fix the past would be to move forward, to make sure that the past didn't repeat itself and become the future.

They sat there drinking and eating Ryan's ketchup drowned fries. The minutes stretched by and still they sat in silence, each one wondering how to continue. They knew there had to be a next step, but what it was they didn't know.

Ryan broke the silence, his second empty beer bottle clicking against the wood table as he put it down. "I'm buzzed," he said simply. "Well buzzed enough."

Now that the moment, the opportunity, was here Eric and Calliegh didn't know what to say. What did you ask a private man about his equally private dead lover? Especially when you had to go to work with that man come Monday morning. It's not that they lacked questions to ask—both had a thousand questions they wanted answers to—they didn't know where to start. The Cuban and the blond both sensed that this was the only chance they were ever going to get to ask Ryan anything about his relationship with Speed. But where did they even start?

Ryan just sat they, head tilted waiting for them to ask whatever they wanted to know. Maybe if he wasn't drunk, maybe if things hadn't gone the way they had between the three of them, he'd have taken pity on them and started talking. Let them get their bearings before they started asking questions. But he has drunk and really didn't care. Either they could find their way out of their confusion and ask what they wanted to know or they would all sit here in silence for another hour or so. Both options were fine by Ryan.

"When'd you and Speed first meet?" Eric thought that was safe enough. It was like his mother said when he was younger: comience al principio mi hijo, start at the beginning my son. The advice hadn't failed him yet.

"We met when I was 16 years old. He was 23 or 24 years old at that point. He'd just finished getting his bachelor's degree—actually it was two degrees and a minor—and he'd decided to go on a road trip, to find himself. At least that's what he told me. One of his closest friend's had died just before he graduated. Somehow he ended up in Boston. He rolled into town on a motorcycle looking for work, odd jobs and handy man stuff."

Ryan smiled at the memory. He remembered that day with stunning clarity. He'd just gotten off the bus from school to see his mother talking to a black haired man who was leaning up against a motorcycle. The man was seven kinds of good looking and sexy as sin. Ryan remembers thinking that if his mother was going to have an affair she should at least cheat on his father with this walking sex god.

But it turns out he mother and the sex god, as Ryan had decided to call him, were only talking about what kinds of help she needed around the house. Ryan's father wasn't around during the summers. He'd work October to April, take he money he'd earned and spend the rest of the year boozing Lord only knows where. Ryan's mother was left to pay the bills and run the house during the summer. It was complicated though. She couldn't watch her son and work at the same time. And she hated leaving her boy alone. Sure he was 16, but still, he was her baby.

Ryan would later find out that his mother had hired the older man for the summer. She gave him room and board in exchange for him fixing whatever needed fixing around the house and keeping an eye on young Ryan during the summer.

"So yeah," Ryan said continuing, "my mom hired him for a few odd jobs during the day. My mom wasn't at home during the day and I had nowhere else to go, so I ended up hanging out with him while he worked."

Speed was actually annoyed by Ryan for the first couple of days he worked at the Wolfe's house. Mostly Ryan didn't say much, he'd just watch the older man work. But after a few weeks Speed grew used to the kid's constant presence. He grew to like it. It wasn't until a month into the summer that Speed said something to him.

"_Kid," Speed said, not looking up from the fence he was painting. He didn't have to look behind him to see if Ryan was there. Ryan was always behind him, he was _always _there. "Don't you have friends or something? You've been on break for a month now and I haven't seen you go hang out with anyone your age. All you do is read. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But seriously, you're on vacation. Go have some fun." _

_Ryan cocked his head trying to figure out how to answer the question. Thanks to his father, Ryan had learned to think before he answered any questions. Doing otherwise usually led to getting smacked up side the head. "I've got friends," he answered finally. "But they all go places during the summer—none of them stay in Boston Mr. Timothy." _

"_Don't call me Mr. Timothy, kid. Makes me sound like I'm Mr. Rodgers' age or something. You can call me Speed if you want." _

"_Speed," Ryan said testing the name on his tongue. He came to the conclusion that he liked the name. It fit the man. "Fine I'll call you Speed it you stop calling me kid. The name is Ryan. I'm 16 you know. I stopped being a kid a while a go." _

_Putting the paintbrush down, Speed turned around. His lips quirked into smirk. "Ryan.. Yeah, I can do that." His heart went out to the boy. Ryan's mother had told him all about the situation with Ryan's father. The man was a scum bag to say the very least. Speed had grown up in a very well off family. They'd gone places during the summer—all over the United States, Ireland, Greece, India. It was always an adventure for his family. He felt bad for Ryan who had to stay at home and pretty much alone all summer. And Speed could never resist a damsel in distress. Even if the damsel was a 16 year old boy. _

"_Look Ryan," Speed checked his watch, "it's still early. Help me finish painting this fence by noon and we'll go somewhere fun for lunch. My treat. We can even take my bike if you wear a helmet. What do you say?" Speed held out of the spare paintbrushes to Ryan. Ryan took the brush and grinned like an idiot. _

"Yo! Wolfe?" Eric waved his hands in front of Ryan's face. "You still with us?"

Ryan snapped out of the memory, blushing. "Yeah, sorry about that. Just got lost in thought." He rubbed his face with his hand. "What was I saying?"

"Your mom hired Speed for the summer," Calliegh prompted.

"Yeah. I spent the entire summer with him. At some point we fell in love and the rest, as they say, was history. I know it sounds ridiculously clichéd but it's true—that really is how we got together."

"Dude, you were 16 at the time. You weren't even legal!" Disbelief was smeared across Eric's face. Clearly he was not buying Ryan's story.

"It's not we slept together when I was 16, Eric." Ryan sighed in exasperation. "We didn't actually do anything until after I turned 18 and graduated high school. Speed wouldn't have taken advantage of me like that. Not to mention it was against the law. Man, he didn't even want to kiss me until he thought I was old enough. Gave me some bull about protecting my innocence. Seriously, the first time we kissed was because I surprised him and he didn't have a chance to say no."

"Really?" Calliegh asked, giggling. She could imagine the look of shock that would have been on Speed's face him Ryan first kissed him.

"Really," Ryan replied. "He was so angry. Started yelling at me about inappropriate behavior and how we couldn't be doing things like that." Ryan smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. "So I kissed him again to shut him up. I think it took close to ten kisses before he got with the program."

Both Calliegh and Eric laughed. In their minds' eyes they could imagine Speed getting more and more flustered, stubbornly trying to tell a younger Ryan to stop. And they could see Ryan, pound for pound just as stubborn as Speed, kissing the older man until he gave in.

"That was the night before he had to leave at the end of summer. Said he was going down to Miami to visit his Uncle because—" Ryan was cut off by the shrill sound of his phone ringing. No more than a second later Calliegh's phone started ringing, followed by Eric's phone. Flipping open the phone, Ryan opened the text message.

_DB NW 17__th__ St and NW 103__rd__ St_

_DB ID night shift lab tech_

_Calling in all hands _

_-H_

In a flurry of activity they all started to get ready to leave.

"You two alright to do this, Ryan,Eric?" Calliegh asked, gesturing to the empty beer bottles. She'd barely taken two sips of her Mimosa. She pulled out some money from her purse. 

"Yeah, I'm good, Cal," Eric said, putting on his jacket. He fished around for his wallet, took out a few bills and went to put them on the table.

"Same here," Ryan said, popping the last of the fries into his mouth. And even though Roxie had said the beer was on the house, Ryan reached to put ten dollars on the table.

The three CSI's hands met, brushed up against each other, as they all put the money on the table. At the contact, they all looked up at each other—something had shifted. Perhaps for the first time they were seeing each other properly, for what each of them truly was.

Yes, Calliegh and Eric had been total asses to Ryan in the past.

Yes, Ryan was hurt and angry about how the lab treated him.

Yes, they all missed Speed terribly and needed to properly grieve and cope with his death.

Yes, their relationship was still twisted and undeniably complicated.

Yes, it was going to take a lot to make that relationship even semi stable and manageable, if that was even possible.

But despite all that, looking at each others' faces, the CSI's realized something. They were a team. Highly trained, dysfunctional, and unconventional—but nonetheless a team. And they had a dead body and a crime scene waiting for them at NW 17th Street and NW 103rd Street.

"Well come on boys," Calliegh said taking Ryan's hand into one of her hands and Eric's hand into the other. "We've got work to do." She led them out of the bar and into the parking lot.

"Yeah," Eric said, half smile on his lips and gently squeezing the blonde's hand. "It's like Horatio is always saying…"

Ryan squeezed Calliegh's hand as well and looked over at Eric, a on his face echoing the half smile on Eric's face. "Miami never closes."


End file.
